Like with most taunts, people grew tired of it. There might even be a new generation of children who’d never heard of bogeyman Ben, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d grown weary of the self-flagellation his trips to town amounted to, and John preferred to be taken to a proper city for doctor’s visits and the rare shopping trips.
Ben suspected that the old man relished his isolation. Ben, and then Chris, were all the company he wanted since his wife died shortly before Ben’s fifteenth birthday. Maybe that’s why John had kept Donna at arm’s length, because she took a place off-limits to anyone. Or because he’d sensed how much she’d disliked the sacrifices needed to keep the Dryden’s place in the family.
The credits rolled. Ben switched off the television. There she was again, popping up in his thoughts. The ghost of lovers’ past. Except that she’d long since stopped loving him and he’d grown indifferent too. A psychologist would have a field day with him.
Eve gasped for air as she came out of her total work immersion. Her brain fizzed and her eyes needed to refocus, but it was done, with a comfortable hour to spare until the agreed deadline.
She splashed cold water over her face. She could barely remember when she’d last brushed her teeth or changed out of her pyjamas. She took a sniff at her armpits and recoiled. What she needed now was a long shower, a decent meal and a walk to clear her head.
The “Green Dragon” had a sleepy air. Hayley’s grandmother dozed in her usual spot, Hayley slouched next to her with a book, and the bar stools sat surprisingly empty.
“Hello, stranger,” Hayley said as Eve tiptoed closer, trying hard not to disturb the old lady. She’d forgotten the name.
“It’s only been - “, Eve counted the days on her fingers. The exclusion of everything apart from work impacted her normal functions. “Five days.”
“You could have been lying dead in your cottage. Or in the woods.” Hayley’s grin indicated a joke.
“Thanks for your concern,” Eve said.
“I would have been worried if the postman hadn’t mentioned some female swearing like a trooper. At first, he thought you were yelling at a man, but the words ‘weaselly turd-blossom of an expression’ confused him.”
“I was working. And now I’m starving.”
“The kitchen opens in fifteen minutes.” Hayley took a cloth and gave the gleaming table next to her a perfunctory wipe. “You haven’t been out much, then?”
“Not at all.”
“And your bird-watching?” Hayley’s innocent look could have fooled anyone.
Eve shook her head.
“If you’re going after your lunch, you might want to check your buttons. In case you run into people.”
Eve glanced down her shirt. How did she not notice that she’d buttoned it wrong? She groaned and moved towards the restroom. Some things needed to be done in private. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Hayley whipped out a notepad and pencil, the soul of efficiency. “Can I take your order in the meantime?”
Eve strolled under sun-dappled trees with a sense of accomplishment. The money would be in her account within a week, early bluebells and scillas, if she identified them correctly, scented the air and she had no more obligations for a week.
Since she’d managed to suppress any thought of Ben Dryden during her work bout, she might not even walk any further then the owl’s nest.
It had rained two nights ago, and a few muddy spots squelched under her boots. She peered closely at the trees to find her markers, so closely that she gave a start when a voice behind her said, “We meet again.”
Eve had practised what to say to Ben, so the last thing she’d intended was to blurt out, “Did you have anything to do with the death of your wife?”
Chapter 6
The words had barely left Eve’s mouth when she saw his expression turn to frozen. She took a step back. “I’m sorry.” It should have come out loud and clear, but instead sounded like a rasped whisper.
“That’s okay,” he said. “If you hadn’t brought it up, I might have.”
Cold sweat formed in her armpits, a sign of stress. She should have felt fear too, but she didn’t.
Birdsong interrupted the silence. A blackbird swooped onto the path and fell greedily upon an earthworm.
“I thought it’s the early birds that catch the worms,” Eve said in another bout of inanity.
“The answer is, I don’t know.”
“What?” Her mouth fell open. She shut it with a snap.
“I didn’t do it, if that’s what you mean.” He ruffled his hair, the single sign of agitation in his otherwise calm demeanour. “But I wasn’t there to stop it, and I don’t know the why, so how can I be sure there wasn’t a way for me to prevent her death?”
“It must be hell, to have all these questions and no answers.” Eve’s chest felt hollow. She would have liked to touch Ben, to show sympathy, but didn’t dare.
“I manage quite well not to dwell too much on it.” He leant against a tree, his eyes half-shut against the sun.
“Have you never tried to find out?”
“Who do you think would talk to me? In the public opinion I was judged and found guilty as soon as the news hit the stands. And I have faith in the police.”
“But – “, she started.
He interrupted her. “It almost killed my father. I’m not letting him be upset over a wild-goose chase.”
“Hayley said he’s in a wheelchair.”
“He’d had his first stroke before we moved in, but the murder and me as the main suspect triggered a second, big one.”
“He was home that day?” she asked. The news reports had stated that fact, but with little additional information. And they’d called John disabled.
“In a drugged state. Someone put sleeping pills in his tea.” Ben abruptly shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away from her.
“I’m sorry,” Eve said again. “We don’t have to talk about this.”
“No. I understand. It’s just not my favourite topic.”
“How about work? Or hobbies? Favourite places?” She smiled, hoping he’d lighten up.
They fell into an easy step as they discussed the merits of Oscar Wilde, whose plays they both loved, and the overrated-ness of “The Da Vinci Code”. Eve marvelled at the breadth of his bookish knowledge and then chided herself for being a snob. It said more about her doubtful taste in men when it came as a surprise to find an attractive specimen who could easily compete with her in terms of knowledge about literature and film.
Ben stopped himself halfway into a discourse about the merits of Terry Pratchett’s reimaginations of Shakespeare when his phone buzzed. “I need to get back, but maybe we can continue our conversation another day?” he asked.
Eve nodded her head graciously. “When shall we two meet again? I hope not in thunder, lightning or in rain.” It was the best she could come up with.
He flashed her a small smile. “The weather forecast for tomorrow is good.”
Eve held out her hand. He shook it with the same warm, reliable grip she remembered. Definitely not the hands of a murderer. How his wife could have intended to leave him was a mystery. She might conceivably have another chat with Hayley. But not too soon. That would be prying.
A hush fell over the “Green Dragon” when Ben strolled in. Shocked glances burned into him before the regulars shifted away. He could hear sucked-in breaths and muttered insults, but Hayley’s presence prevented any loud outbursts. She did not take kindly to raucous behaviour in her pub, not matter who or why.
Eve sat at a corner table. Her face lit up when she spotted Ben, but he gave her a quick sign to ignore him. There was no need for her to get involved.
“Red wine, please,” he said.
Hayley’s grin warmed his heart as she held out two bottles for his inspection. He selected the right one, an Australian shiraz.
“Tosser,” a wizened man with half his teeth missing mumbled and pretend-accidentally elbowed Ben.<
br />
Hayley glared at the old man. He shrank into himself. The rest of the customers at the bar backed away from Ben as if he had the plague. He inwardly shrugged it off. He’d expected a lot worse when he decided to enter the lion’s den.
“How are things?” Hayley leant on the bar and rested her chin on her hands after pouring his drink.
“Can’t complain.” He sipped his wine, with all the outward signs of a man enjoying an after-work drink with mates.
Three men, among them the old guy who’d found his spine, gathered in a huddle.
Hayley whistled. They looked up.
“Any strange incidents and you’re banned,” she said, baring her teeth at them in a strangely threatening beam.
“Aww, Hayley,” the old man whined. “You know us.”
“I do. And we’re clear.” She focussed her attention on Ben again. “What do you think of my remodelling?”
He turned around, in the leisurely fashion of a man at ease, and scrutinised the framed photographs of famous pubs all over the world. These weren’t prints, but clearly private pictures. When he looked closely, Hayley appeared in all of them. But the gleaming wood and brass were all how he remembered the “Green Dragon”.
“I’m glad you haven’t changed it too much,” he said. “Never change a winning team.”
Ben left, after savouring his wine. He sensed the change in the atmosphere, from anger to bewilderment, the longer he stayed. If it weren’t for Hayley, somebody would have knocked into him by now, hell-bent on starting a fight that would send him to hospital. But Hayley wouldn’t stand for any trouble. Although there were two more pubs in town, none of them could compete with the “Green Dragon”. Being banned by the Trowbridges was the worst form of punishment.
Ben’s stomach muscles relaxed as he opened his car. He’d wanted Eve to see what being associated with him really meant, but he appreciated being spared a physical fight.
Eve didn’t realise she’d held her breath until Ben was safely out of the door. The insults were kept low enough to hopefully escape Hayley’s hearing, but their nastiness angered Eve. If people behaved like this, five years after the murder, Ben’s life must have been insufferable in the beginning. There was but one way forward. Somebody needed to solve the case of the late Donna Dryden.
Eve glanced around. She could easily imagine the men and a few of the women mixed in the crowd to get riled up and go after Ben with pitchforks, or whatever rural implements they had handy. She understood why Ben kept a low profile, and she could understand his worry about his father. The one thing that perplexed her was the fact that while the case remained unsolved, a murderer remained at large. A murderer who might easily strike again. And ben should have cared about that.
She walked home, lost in thought. If Ben for some strange reason declined to take action, she would do it herself. If she hadn’t misread this evening, she would also be able to count on Hayley for her mission. While she at first thought the exchange at the bar might have revealed stronger feelings on Hayley’s side than old friendship, in hindsight Eve changed her opinion. Hayley had behaved in exactly the right way to show support without drawing too much attention to it or demonstrating softer emotions. If Eve was right, Ben had two defenders willing to ride to his rescue.
That would be tricky though. The biggest snag Eve could see for her sleuthing was how to elicit information from Ben without his noticing.
She struggled to keep her eyes open. She’d leave that problem to another day. After five years under a cloud, time was no longer of the essence for Ben. She’d have to tread carefully anyway, if she wanted to gain anybody’s trust. While people loved to gossip, men just as much as women, her experience in British small towns had proven most people to be disappointingly discreet the second they found her out as both a foreigner and an urbanite at heart.
Maybe she should don a hand-knitted cardigan and talk gardening, or did that only work on television? Hayley would know, Eve thought as she drifted off. Best of all, Hayley might have an idea or two about the real culprit. Once she had a trail, the rest surely would fall into place.
After breakfast, Eve decided to start with the victim. What in Donna Dryden’s life made her worthy of murdering? She tapped her teeth with a pencil as she scribbled down this question in a pocket notebook. Although it could be phrased better. What made her the target? Who stood to gain?
She enlarged the question marks. Her handwriting all but guaranteed the illegibility of her notes to the uninitiated and making letters or punctuation bigger were her variation of doodling. Eve, to her deep regret, couldn’t draw her way out of a paper bag.
The newspapers she found online had used a headshot and an old photograph from a party, which probably were provided by friends for a few quid. Both showed a young woman with an almost doll-like pretty face and slightly crooked teeth. Those teeth were the sole irregularity. Apart from that, the photos gave no clue of her personality apart from a penchant for eyeliner.
It was hard to imagine the woman in these photos with Ben, but he would have changed. Especially after finding his wife dead and himself as the prime suspect. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he could have changed enough to have been capable of violence once. She pushed the thought resolutely aside. He had an alibi, and besides, Hayley believed in his innocence. Few jobs demanded more insights in the human nature than running a pub, and Hayley and Ben been acquainted since their teenage years at least.
Eve tapped the pencil again, only to miss her teeth and hit her lip with a sharp metal end. The skin promptly broke and she tasted blood.
Eve licked it off.
Blood; there must have been blood on the scene. It would have spattered, even if it was in barely visible droplets. Police used flashlights and chemical sprays to detect them, if she remembered correctly. Eve wrote, police report? Coroner?
It would be a lot easier if she could simply ask Ben. Instead she had to rely on her own ingenuity.
She returned to the first article, which said that at the time of her death Donna Dryden worked part-time in a clothes shop in the market town. That would explain at least part of her frustration. The article said she’d been an assistant boutique manager in London before that. She must have found her new life quiet and boring.
Hayley would be able to tell her more, if Eve could catch her alone. Or find out when Hayley was off-duty for a change. Until then, it couldn’t be that hard to find the shop where Donna had sold pants with elasticated waistbands and sequinned tops that fell apart after the second wash. Harder would be finding someone who knew her then and still worked there. In Eve’s experience, the people you wanted to stay, invariably moved on. Like she did herself.
Eve silently apologised for her snobbery. “Paula’s Parlour” was neither cheap nor tasteless. It might not cater to the rich and beautiful that sauntered through Chelsea and Kensington on killer heels, swinging it-bags and wearing statement coats, but she’d gladly browse here for a new outfit. Or at least pretend to.
Eve rifled through the tops on a rack. She’d seen two shop assistants at work, one behind the till, the other one folding tee-shirts with the precision of an automaton and the speed of a snail.
She counted under her breath to see how long it would take for one of them to approach a customer.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Exactly three minutes later the folder gave Eve an encouraging smile while keeping clear of Eve’s personal space. Eve smiled back at the thin dark-haired woman. She took her to be in her forties, old enough to have befriended Donna, if she had known her.
“I don’t know.” Eve sighed, careful to exaggerate her slight American accent. “It’s so hard to say what really suits you. On my last visit, I had such great advice from a lovely lady, but that was, gee, years ago.” Eve held a shimmering satin wrap blouse up and tut-tutted. “That Donna knew exactly my style. Much better than me. She doesn’t work here anymore, does she?”
The sales assistant took the han
ger with the blouse out of Eve’s hands and exchanged a worried look with her colleague behind the till.
“Donna, you say? Oh dear.” She led Eve to a velvet pouffe and made her sit before she pulled up a second pouffe.
Her colleague joined them, clucking her tongue. She was at least sixty but valiantly fought the losing battle against her age. “You must be very brave, love,” she said to Eve. “This will come as a shock, but our dear Donna is no longer of this world.”
Eve clutched her chest. “Oh no. But she was so young.” She lowered her voice, half hating herself, half enjoying her newly discovered acting talents. “Was it the big C?” She was met with two blank stares. “Cancer? It’s taking so many.”
The younger sales assistant shook her head. “Much, much worse. She was murdered, in her own home, I’m sorry to say.”
Eve gasped. “Murdered? A burglary?”
“That’s not what the police think. There was nothing missing.”
“It was the husband who did it.” The older woman relished her big moment. “Everybody knows, although the police couldn’t prove it.”
“Because he wasn’t there when it happened,” the younger woman said. This conversation seemed to have played out with a certain regularity, Eve thought, because there were no pauses.
The older shop assistant snorted. “Then why did Donna run around with a hang dog look for months, and suddenly she was floating on air? If you ask me, that’s when she made up her mind to leave him, but he wouldn’t let her.”
“It could have been someone else.” The younger woman glared at her colleague. Eve kept quiet, hoping to be forgotten in this flow of narrative.
“Like who?” The older woman tapped her foot.
Let Sleeping Murder Lie: A cozy mystery Page 4
